


peter parker's wikihow article on how to not die

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Loves Peter Parker, because i'm mean, it's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt, that somebody being peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: Step One: Break into your rich mentor's home and talk nonstop until you annoy him into letting you stay.Step Two: Clean your own suit because you fell into a stranger's garden, and that's okay. You're allowed to make mistakes.Step Three: Help your mentor with his super-secret project that involves nanobots—which, now, isn't so super-secret anymore.Step Four: Maybe duck when your mentor is messing around with weapons. Maybe.Step Five: Forgive your mentor. Don't let his guilt eat him alive. It will hurt worse than dying.Step Six: Rinse and repeat.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 360
Collections: Peter Parker Stories, carolina’s | fics that have been devouRED, ellie marvel fics - read





	peter parker's wikihow article on how to not die

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i am completely incapable of finishing off my current chapter wips smh
> 
> actually i can totally believe that and i am so sorry

Pepper’s voice is the first that Peter hears. 

“Sanitation hasn’t been over there in six months, and you insist—”

“I insist that whatever they can do—”

“—that there’s nothing to worry about when the chutes in sectors—”

“—I can _probably_ do it better, that’s what I mean, and—”

“—four through six have been blocked ever since you decided to—”

“You promised not to bring it up again.”

“How could I not bring it up again when you refuse to—”

“Pep, honey, I’m not having this conversation right now, okay? I have eleven million things to do, and, for your information, I have a— _kid?_ Pete? What are you doing here?”

Peter smiles and waves at the tense—albeit slightly confused—couple standing in the foyer of their own home. He had first begun to hear their conversation as they made their way down the sidewalk—something about clogged garbage chutes in the Avengers facility upstate and Tony’s wrong opinion on how he should fix them when he had initially been the one to break them. But their confused expressions make sense. Technically, Peter shouldn’t even be there. Technically, he had broken and entered, minus the whole “breaking” part. 

“Uh—there was an early dismissal today,” Peter replies, adjusting his backpack so it would stop digging into his shoulders. His other option would be to put it on the floor, but the place is entirely _too_ immaculate, and it feels weird to even breathe in there. “Some kid mixed the wrong chemicals in one of the labs. Like, twenty students are in the hospital right now. Bad stuff. But we got to leave early, which was cool. Hi.”

Both of them continue to stare at Peter as if he has just told them that he’s dropping out of school to hike across the country. It feels oddly parental, although Peter is pretty sure this is the third time he has met the famous Pepper Potts in his year of acquaintance with Tony. He doesn’t even know if he can call it an acquaintanceship, per se, and Tony would insist that it’s nothing more than a mentorship or internship—some kind of ‘ship’. But Peter considers it a friendship. 

“Okay, that doesn’t really…” Tony squints his eyes and tilts his head. “—explain why you’re here. And in your _incredibly_ disgusting suit.” He takes a moment to take in the damage before snapping his gaze back up to Peter. “What the hell did you do to my suit?”

“So, I’m a little confused because you just called it _my_ suit, and now you’re saying—”

Once again, Tony tilts his head, this time as a threatening gesture. His jaw tightens and his lips twist like he might be angry, which Peter doesn’t think could possibly be true. Besides breaking into a multimillion-dollar home and slightly messing up a multimillion-dollar suit, Peter is innocent. 

“Okay, fine,” Peter says defensively, holding up his hands for dramatic effect. “If you wanna know the truth—which you clearly do—I didn't really wanna go home after school. I would’ve had to do homework all night, but I already completed the stuff due tomorrow, so then I would be ahead of the game and I don’t really want that. It’s boring. I like feeling like a constant ball of stress—it gets my adrenaline all fired up.”

“He gets that from you,” Pepper remarks under her breath.

Tony huffs. “Totally does not.”

“Totally do,” Peter says, crumpling his mask between his hands, “but not the point. Anyway, so I decided to swing here because I figured it’d be faster. I didn’t wanna go to Ned’s because, instead of building LEGOs and playing World of Warcraft all night, I kinda wanted to do the legit stuff. Like actually build something that isn’t a LEGO Batmobile for once. And I knew you were in town, plus FRIDAY was so nice to not—”

“Okay, I don’t know how you think any of this explains why you look like you crawled out of a mud pit dumpster,” Tony interjects, folding his arms over a running shirt that looks more like scuba gear than anything. 

“It doesn’t; I was getting to that,” Peter says, and then adds, “were you guys out on a run? That’s cute.”

“Jesus, Pete, get to it.”

He holds up his hands again. “Sorry, sorry! Yeah, the dirt and stuff is because I aimed wrong, and instead of hitting a building, I actually kinda-sorta fell into someone’s garden. And then I ran through a rose bush full of thorns. But I’m totally fine. I may be bleeding in areas but I also have severe injuries to my self-esteem. So…bonus.” 

The same looks from earlier stare right back at him. Confusion mixed with that hiking-across-the-country look again. Peter thinks he might have officially granted himself a spot on Tony’s dumbass list. 

“So, let me get this right,” Tony begins, “you left school early, fell into a thorn bush, broke into our home, a very expensive home full of very expensive and _breakable_ things—”

“Correct.”

Tony shoots him a glare before continuing. “You broke into our home, Pete. What on earth makes you think that’s okay?”

“You said I’m always welcome,” Peter answers.

_“When invited!”_

Pepper pats Tony on the chest and whispers in his ear, “I’m gonna go change. You two have fun.” But Tony hardly reacts to her. As she walks away, she gives Peter a smile and a wink. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark, honestly,” Peter says once Pepper is gone. “FRIDAY let me in, so technically I didn’t even have to break in. I just kinda walked in. You might wanna fix that. That’s a huge security risk.”

Tony rubs at his temple and closes his eyes as a sigh leaves his lips. “Mister Parker, you are impossible. Believe it or not, I might’ve had plans. Pep and I were having a very lengthy discussion about—”

“About garbage chutes.”

“You’re on thin ice, kid.”

Peter cracks a grin, and Tony sighs again. 

“Gimme that,” the man says, reaching out for the mask in Peter’s hand before snagging it away. He examines it briefly. “You’re dead. You’re literally dead. What are these on the lenses? Scratches? Parker, you’re dead.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Mister Stark. This isn’t the first time anything has happened to the suit.”

“And I doubt it will be the last.”

“Exactly,” Peter says, but the joking tone hardly follows through. “So, am I being kicked out? Or am I cool to stay?”

Tony stares at him for a few seconds, rolls his eyes, and then starts down the foyer toward a kitchen. “Fine,” he grumbles with his back toward Peter. “Get changed. We’ll repair your suit after lunch.”

“Oh, I get to have lunch with you guys?” 

Tony turns and raises a brow at Peter. “Who said anything about lunch?”

Peter feels like he has to take a picture of the moment. He’s sat at the kitchen counter in Tony Stark’s home, hands stuffed into the pocket of an old MIT sweatshirt that his mentor has given him to wear, and now he’s being fed cold cuts on ciabatta with homemade orange juice and organic strawberries. It feels so much like a dream that he’s pinched himself seven times. 

For the most part, he only speaks when he’s addressed. It’s a little awkward due to his means of arrival and the lack of established past he has with Pepper—plus there’s the fact that everyone is standing around him like it’s an interrogation, but he’s fine with it. Tony, however, doesn’t seem too keen on the tension. He sends Peter an unreadable expression every minute or two, but only when Pepper isn’t looking. 

“So, Peter, how’s school?” she asks once the conversation has worn thin. “—aside from the chemical incident today. I heard that you go to Midtown Tech. Tony has told me a lot about you.”

A smile grows on Peter’s face, and he glances over Tony. “Oh, has he?”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“All good things,” says Pepper as Peter looks back at her. 

“She can’t promise that.”

“School is good,” Peter says, ignoring Tony’s remark. He passes the glass of orange juice between his hands. “I’m—I’m taking an astronomy course this semester, which has been super awesome so far because we’ve been learning about dark matter and astrophysics, all that jazz. And my teacher worked for NASA at one point, so she really knows her stuff. Midtown is a total downgrade if you ask me. Like she worked with actual astronauts. I’m so jealous.”

Tony furrows his brows. “Kid, you get to work with me. That should be knocking your socks off.”

Peter shrugs, mumbling a small, “eh”, and Tony is immediately taken aback. 

“Well, then, you’re fired.”

“I was never hired,” Peter retorts. 

Tony lets out a laugh, but he’s quick to cover it up with a sip of his orange juice. “Don’t take that the wrong way,” he says. “I did not find that funny. Are you done? Since you were so brave to come all the way out here, we might as well make use of you. Also, I’m Iron Man, so that makes me automatically cooler than an astronaut. You agree though, right, honey?” 

Pepper chews at her bottom lip and awkwardly smiles. “I…agree.” 

Tony’s face falls. “Oh. I see. Okay.” He stands and makes his way back toward the foyer. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs in Loserville with Mayor Dum-E and Councilman Fart Face-U, who is in charge of headassery and the foundation of our lovely city parks. Thank you for your time.” 

Peter has to hold in his laughter until he hears the final stair creak. He knows, for a fact, that Tony only means to amuse them, but Peter feels bad. Their dynamic follows a strict guideline of pushing boundaries and making sure there is always some form of playful mockery, at least that’s what Tony says. He can’t handle a serious, can-do attitude when there’s a connection to establish. He likes to have room for stupid banter and insults that don’t matter, although Peter has always wondered about taking things too far. He doubts that now has been that final edge.

After loading the dishes into the dishwasher, Peter thanks Pepper for lunch and then bounds upstairs. He’s only been in their place in the Upper East Side a few times—he can count them on one hand, but he knows the workshop up at the top well. It’s the size of an attic at best, and it’s Tony through and through. As far as Peter knows, there haven’t been many excuses for the man to take to the road upstate, so everything he needs and wants is tucked up in a thousand square feet. Everything but a stash of rickety suits he hasn’t touched in years, and Peter hasn’t touched them either. 

Not that he would without Tony’s permission, of course.

In a home like this, Peter can hardly touch the banisters without the urge to pull out a Clorox after using them; however, up in Tony’s workshop, it’s a world of familiarity. He doesn’t need to clean a surface he’s touched at the fear of ruining a million dollars—although he has been guilty of ruining a million dollars before. 

“Why is there an empty Pringles can on the floor in front of me?” Peter asks once he swings the door open. The contents of the can had once been sour cream and onion.

Tony stands in front of a far window, hands twirling a gadget around before dropping it down onto the metal workbench. He raises his eyebrows at the sound of Peter’s voice. “Pringles can? Oh. That old thing. Yeah, hey DUM-E? I think you miscalculated, bud. The trash can is right next to the door. You were off by two feet. Maybe it’s my fault. I haven’t recalibrated you in like, a million years. Do you mind tossin’ that out for me, kiddo?” 

Peter throws the empty can in the trash before wavingat the robot arm. “Hey, listen, Mister Stark—”

“So, while you’re here with the suit, I figured we might as well get started on adding some of those new additions I was talking to you about,” Tony interrupts without batting an eye in Peter’s direction. “You know, the hyper—”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for barging into your home on such short notice,” Peter finishes.

“There was no notice,” Tony says flatly, “nothing at all. Not even a text or call, like, _hey, Mister Stark, I’m swinging up Park and figured I’d drop by if that’s okay._ _Hope you’re not busy._ That’s me imitating your voice.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, yeah. Got it. Spot on.”

“Apology accepted, though,” Tony continues, shooting a small smile Peter’s way as he tosses over the gadget from before. Peter catches it. “Take a look at that. New spinnerette prototype for your shooters. Gunk-free, and it is now .003 seconds faster than your old ones.” 

“Did you just make this?” Peter asks, examining the spinnerette and fidgeting with its release trigger. It snaps back with a small satisfying click. 

“Just? As in within the past twenty-four hours? Then yes.” Tony folds his arms, and a moment later, he clears his throat. “I, uh—I was having trouble sleeping last night, so I came up here. Had a split second of inspiration and toyed with ideas for a bit. And I figured the best way to go about it was to work with what we already had.”

“ _We?_ ” Peter smiles as he sets the spinnerette back down onto the table. 

Tony hums. “Okay, now that you say it, I take back what I said. It’s about me—everything is always about me.”

Peter watches as Tony wanders around the small workshop, running his fingers over tools and miscellaneous objects while Peter’s smile never ceases. When there are moments of quiet—moments when the superhero gig feels like less of an obligation and more like a side hobby, when the two can be just Peter and Tony and nothing else in between—he tries to remember every little detail about them. Everything feels so fast yet so slow. Peter thinks that this is what his life would have felt like had he grown up with a father or if Ben had never died. Without those things, there would be no Tony.

So, while Peter wishes he still had the people he lost, he’s glad to have the people he found. 

“Um, as I was saying, Mister Stark,” Peter mumbles, “I’m sorry for barging in and assuming that was okay. You could’ve had plans, a-and I just—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Pete,” Tony says, twisting around so he can face Peter from a distance.

Peter nods. “Okay.”

“Firstly, I had said—a while back—that you’re always welcome here, and I mean it,” Tony explains. Meanwhile, he picks up a crumpled ball of paper and tosses it up in the air. “You’re always welcome. Even if there’s no me or Pepper, or either of us, you’re welcome. Think of our home as a safe house. You’ve got nowhere else to go? Try la résidence Stark. The neighbors already know about you, so don’t worry. Secondly, you don’t have to apologize for interrupting my day. It’s obvious I didn’t have plans. Actually, I find it endearing that you came here in the first place.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” Tony nods and smiles. “Yeah. It means that you wanted to hang out with me. I get it—I’m cool. You couldn’t waste another moment once those ambulances left your school, I bet. Probably hopped on the back of one and rode it to Elmhurst. Son-of-a-bitch, I’ll bet you did do that.” 

“You’re flattering yourself,” Peter says

“You’ve met me—you know that’s true.” Tony crosses the lab with Peter’s suit in his hands, all wrinkled and dirty as though it’s not a thousand times more expensive than Peter’s net worth. “So, first thing’s first, Chem Whiz, you’re gonna make some Tetrachloroethylene and get these rags all clean again. Deal?”

Peter nods solemnly. “Yes—yeah. Deal.” 

Tony grins, the warmth of his smile spreading to his eyes like a sense of pride washes over him. It’s a nice change from the occasional looks of annoyance he had been giving Peter within the past hour. “Get to work, kiddo. I’ve got a project I wanna show you after. You’ll think astronauts are over-glorified daredevils by the time we’re done.” 

“Is that a threat or a bet?”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re so fired.”

Peter isn’t sure how they do it, but the suit always looks good as new after they fix it up. Synthetic stitches and a reboot to the HUD system were the finishing touches while the pair talked about Pepper’s roof greenhouse and the lemon tree that Tony appropriately named John Cougar Mellemoncamp. The promised project—the one that will supposedly overshadow any astronaut accomplishment in existence—has yet to be talked about, and Peter can’t lie and say that he’s not eager about it. 

He’s long over his hero-worship of Tony. It’s hard to idolize a man who prefers omelets over pancakes and has an unhealthy obsession with Totino’s pizza rolls but only at three in the morning. At the same time, Peter still thinks of the man as a genius. A genius billionaire who had been the one to spark Peter’s fascination with science in the first place. 

Tony is busy launching holographic blueprints into a target across the room when Peter catches sight of a prototype on his desk. It’s a small, triangular gadget that reminds Peter of the reactor that used to sit in the older man’s chest, except this one is rigid, sleek, and _much_ cooler. 

“Is that for a new suit?” Peter asks, pointing at it from halfway across the room.

Tony follows his gaze as the holograms disappear, and once he realizes what Peter is pointing to, he picks it up and smiles. “Bingo-Bango. Can you guess what for?”

“Uh—to power the suit?” 

“Nope. Here—” Tony tosses the device over to Peter. “Check it out.”

Peter examines it closely, fingers running along the hexagonal impressions at the top. When he turns it around to check out the back, the watch on his wrist is pulled up against it. The amount of resistance is nothing compared to his strength, however, the magnetic structure of the device is more advanced than he’s used to. It’s nothing like the Muppet magnet May put on their fridge.

“It’s magnetic,” Peter observes, turning it back around before frisbeeing it over to Tony again. 

“Sure is.” Tony taps at the center of it. “This, dear child, is a housing unit for nanoparticles—er, at least, it’s gonna be. I’m still working on the mechanics. It’s—it’s complicated.

Peter raises his brows. “Did you say nanoparticles? Like, as in the stuff I told you about when we watched _Big Hero 6?_ ” 

“Yeah, well—” Tony shrugs. “—it totally had nothing to do with it. I don’t get my inspiration from Disney movies.”

“I once wrote a paper about it.”

“Of course you did.” Tony stands from his desk and walks over to where DUM-E is blocking a large cabinet. “Hey. Lame ass. Scoot your boot.” The robot whirs before backing away slowly. As he does, Tony opens the cabinet and pulls out a stack of small metal boxes. “I’m trusting you not to talk about this. I mean, I _do_ trust you, but y’know, the press is always up my ass. I have some of the particles already contained. It’s all meant to be neurological—brain-based, so what I think is what they will do.”

Peter stands at the sound of Tony’s words, eyes widening as he runs over the many possibilities of nanotech in his head. With that technology, Tony has the ability to create anything he wants. Peter could construct new web-shooters with his mind. “Okay,” Peter mumbles with a nod. “You’re right. Astronauts are so lame.”

Tony lets out a laugh, and once Peter walks up beside him, he claps a hand on his shoulder. “So, you wanna help me?”

“H-help you?” Peter gapes up at Tony. “With one of your suits? Like, a nanotech suit?”

“Unless you don’t want to.”

“No!” Peter exclaims, and then calmly adds, “no, no. I want to. I just—I don’t know if I’m gonna be much help. I have no idea how it works.” 

A small smile finds its way onto Tony’s face. “Oh yeah,” he says, “same. Not a fuckin’ clue. But you’re smart, I’m smart—all we gotta do is put both of our genius brains together and I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“You really trust me?”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You’re so skeptical. I don’t like that. Pete, I have four people in my life that are actively talking to me, you included. So, yeah, I trust you. I kinda have to.”

“Well, I—”

“I don’t think you’re aware that arguing with me about this is pointless,” he remarks, opening upon one of the small boxes to reveal what looks like grains of black sand. “If you help me out, I will _maybe_ consider brainstorming ideas for a suit of your own.”

Peter’s eyes widen again. It feels like Hannukah came early this year. “Holy shit. Yeah. I’ll—I’ll definitely help.”

“Perfect.” Tony’s lips quirk into a grin. “I’ve already programmed the first few layers in the bottom half of the suit. Neurological, circulatory, and muscle. This’ll be a suit unlike you’ve ever seen. The next step is the exo-structure with all of the repulsor tech. You up for the challenge?” 

“I think I was born for this.”

“Atta boy.” Tony sets his hand on Peter’s shoulder again. “And so the grind begins.”

If Peter’s life had felt like a dream before, it sure as hell is one now. 

He wants to believe that, aside from Tony, he’s the only person to ever have a hand in creating an Iron Man suit. He spent a good majority of his adolescent years looking up to a man in a red and gold, and now he’s is in the same room as him while they try to figure out the impossible. Peter, quite literally, does think it’s impossible. The bots are meant to work like cells. They’re meant to regenerate and constantly make sure the entire collective is operating smoothly, and he has no idea how it can be possible to get something nonsentient to do so. 

But it’s Tony. Somehow, everything works in his favor.

As the afternoon rolls along, Peter’s job seems fairly simple. All he has to do is find a safe way to get the nanobots to form over an object without overheating. It’s a small step out of a few thousand steps, and so far, he’s been chipping away at his brain for hours. Every time the bots form over a prop baseball in their basic, prototype form, they’re hot to the touch. The last thing anyone would want is a Tony Stark puddle in the middle of the street. Peter shutters at the thought. 

The charging of a repulsor echoes through the workshop, and before he can glance over, there’s a loud blast from where Tony is working. The room has been silent otherwise. Nothing but the sounds of tools clinking against metal and the muffled pattering of the swarming bots. Peter hasn’t batted an eye Tony’s way in at least thirty minutes. When he looks over, the man adorns a gauntlet up to his forearm, and there’s a crisped trophy smoking in the corner. The wall behind it has been charred from the impact as well. 

Tony grimaces briefly and drops his arm. “Shit.”

“What happened?” Peter asks, slipping off the headpiece that controls the nanites. The fact that he can control them with his mind hasn’t hit him yet. Then again, a spider bit him and gave him superpowers, so the unimaginable no longer seems so strange.

“Trajectory is off,” Tony says. “Also, my arm is burning.”

“I’m—I’m getting there,” Peter mentions as he takes a quick glance down at the inactive nanobots. “So, somehow, in the past half-hour, you already managed to integrate your repulsor tech? How?”

Tony shrugs and types a few codes into his computer. “Because I’m a genius. And I’ve been working on these suits for nearly a decade, kid. I know more than you.”

“Rude, but true.”

He smirks for a moment before holding his arm up to the opposite wall. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll show you the ropes,” he says, and the repulsor charges. “Pass the torch. Preserve the legacy. All that jazz.” The surge curves, yet it doesn’t hit anything in front of him. 

It doesn’t hit where Tony wants it to. Not at all.

“Did it—where the hell’d it go?” he wonders, staring at his open palm and curling his fingers. “Pete, did you see a—”

“Mister Stark,” Peter gasps out. He clutches his torso, pain sizzling up to his chest as he keeps his gaze locked on Tony. The heat from the blast spreads through his body, and he’s desperate to look at the spot of impact, but he’s scared to. He’s afraid it will only make the pain worse.

Tony is a deer in the headlights. His lips part and his eyes widen, horror flooding throughout his features while the sound of searing skin fades away. It feels like an eternity before anyone can move or speak. 

“Pete?” Tony whispers.

Peter swallows dryly, and his eyes flicker down to where his hands meet the wound on his stomach. The moment he sees the blood contrast the skin on his hands, his torso is lighter than air, and he topples toward the floor.

Tony rushes over before Peter’s shoulder can meet the tile. “Pete? Pete. Hey,” he mutters. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Shit.” He lifts Peter up against his knees so he faces the ceiling, and Tony replaces Peter’s hands with his own. “Fuck. _Fuck_. What’d I do? Kid, I’m so sorry.”

“That—” Peter winces at Tony’s touch. “—feels bad. Does it look bad? Ow. It stings.”

“Yeah, yeah, it oughta sting,” Tony mumbles, glancing around the room for—what Peter assumes—anything to help the case. Medical supplies. A towel. Anything. “FRIDAY, get Cho on the line. Tell her—tell her I need her here. Is she in New York? Please tell me she’s in New York.”

_“Right away, boss. Helen Cho is in D.C. at a conference but she’s scheduled to head back to Seoul tonight.”_

“Shit.” Tony sighs. “Get her a jet. Get her here.”

“No, no, Mis’er Stark,” Peter says, sucking in a sharp breath as the pressure on his torso changes ever so slightly. “I’m fine. Just a small burn. S’fine.”

Tony presses his lips together. “Try flesh wound with surrounding third-degree burns. Jesus—” He breathes out through his nose and cradles the back of Peter’s head with his free hand. “What the hell were you doin’, getting yourself hurt?” 

Peter cracks a smile. “Y-your fault,” he says, and a few tears roll down his cheeks. The pain digs through his torso and radiates down to his spine, but he tries to not feel it. He tries to not succumb to what his body wants. And it wants to give in. It wants to give up. Something about this pain is unlike anything he’s experienced. 

“My—” Tony clenches his jaw and nods. “Yeah. You’re right, kid. I’m—I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. The trajectory was off, and—” He shakes his head. “Excuses. All excuses. Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Peter doesn’t think he has ever heard Tony apologize before. Not even in press conferences or on TV. Especially not to him. And he doesn’t like it. It makes him feel like he’s dying. 

“Is it bad?” Peter asks, voice cracking. 

Tony glances down to the wound, and his frown deepens. “It’s—it’s—it’s gonna be okay.” He meets Peter’s eyes. “Cos’ we’ve got Cho on her way. She can regenerate your tissue and make it good as new. Promise. I promise.”

“I-I can do that, too,” Peter says, and he’s not sure why his lungs ache. He doesn’t know why everything hurts. His heartbeat throbs in his head. “I got powers. I can do it.”

“Sure you can, buddy, but not that fast,” Tony remarks. His eyes continue to frantically search the room. “I gotta get something—something better to stop the bleeding. God, you’re still bleeding. Shit.”

Peter shakes his head. “Not that bad. Feels fine.”

“Do not fucking close your eyes,” Tony says while he stands. He rushes over to a table and comes back with fabric to cover the wound. 

The new pressure causes Peter to groan out in pain. He doesn’t hear Tony’s muttered swears as he looks down at where his stomach is covered by dark red material. At first, his heart clenches at the sight—he fears the worst, but the more he looks at the color, the less he’s convinced it’s his own blood. A black insignia catches his eye.

“That’s—that’s my suit,” he sputters out, reaching out to hold Tony’s arm. 

“Wh—” Tony’s eyes widen, and he stares at the bloodied material for a long moment before pressing it back down against Peter’s wound. “I’m making you a new fuckin’ suit,” he tells him, “I swear. This one—I’m burning it. Setting it on fucking fire.”

Peter tries to chuckle, but the spasms in his chest cause the pain to flare. He feels more tears fall, and the lighter he becomes, the more scared he becomes. Tony hadn’t meant to do it. It was an accident. But Peter doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die at the hands of his mentor, even if it had been an accident.

Tony’s eyes are watery. He bites at his lip, eager to keep his own tears from falling as he stares down at Peter, helpless. “Kid, I’m so sorry.”

_“Boss, Cho is on her way.”_

He doesn’t answer FRIDAY. Instead, he gives Peter’s hand a firm squeeze. “You’re okay, Pete. You’re all right. Help is on the way. Wanna tell me all of your deepest, darkest secrets now? I just need you to keep talking. I can’t have you passing out.”

“I’m not gonna…” Peter breathes in deep and blinks rapidly to keep his mind awake. “Not gonna pass out. Still bleeding?”

“Still bleeding, but don’t focus on that, okay?” Tony suggests. His eyes are full of hope, and that gives Peter hope, too. “Focus on the fact that once I finish this super rad nano suit, you’re gonna get one of your own. You and Pep. I’m gonna protect you—give you everything. That way, if you fall into a garden and wade through another thorn bush, you’ll be impenetrable.”

“I-I’m gonna get another suit?” Peter asks. 

“A million suits.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. Tony cares. 

“But I swear to God,” Tony continues, “I’m never letting you near my workshop ever again. I just—I don’t know how I—Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Peter shakes his head. “You didn’t mean it.”

“It doesn’t matter if I didn’t mean it. I hurt you, kid, I—”

“You didn’t mean it,” he says again. “Y-you care.”

Tony nods, and he tries his best to smile, but it wobbles. “Yeah. I care. I really fuckin’ care about you. And you’re gonna be okay because you’re Peter Parker. You may be Spider-Man, but you’re also Peter Parker. Okay? And you stay alive. You keep yourself alive somehow. Don’t do it for me. Do it for May. Do it for Ned. Do it for yourself.”

“Once I’m better,” Peter mumbles, “I’m gonna write a WikiHow article on—on how to stay alive. I’ll quote the Bee Gees. So when others also don’t wanna die, they can just read that.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“I don’t feel good.”

He sighs, pushing back a few strands of Peter’s hair from his forehead. “I know, I know. I’m so sorry.”

Peter frowns. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

He can’t feel his own body anymore. He thinks he might be floating, and his brain is miles away. All he can feel is the tip of his tongue as he says, “stop saying sorry. You don’t have to be sorry,” before he can no longer keep himself awake. He feels light, but his body is heavy. 

His body is heavy as his eyelids flutter. He hears voices, loud and soft and loud again, and he thinks there are only two. Maybe three. His eyes open and close, and he succumbs to the heaviness again. 

“I feel weird,” is the first thing Peter says once he fully wakes up. He stares up at a high-arched ceiling, mouth dry and stomach aching as he fights against his own nerves. He has the urge to move, but his body doesn’t want to move. So, he forces through and lifts his head, and black dots swarm his vision. 

“Hey, hey, Pete, stay down,” a voice instructs. “You’re on a ridiculous amount of pain medication right now.”

“Meditication?” 

There’s a short laugh, followed by, “ _medication_. Jesus. You’re flyin’ high, aren’t ya?” 

Peter thinks he nods, but he’s not sure. The black dots trickle away. “Soarin’, flyin’.” He blindly reaches a hand out to his right, and he hits a face process. “This Mister Stark?”

“You wanna look over and find out?”

Peter tilts his head to the side and notices Tony sitting on an ottoman. Behind him is a fireplace with a large television overhead, and Peter realizes that he must be on a couch in Tony’s living room. 

“Oh, hey.” Peter smiles.

Tony smiles, too. And then it falls. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear me, Parker? I’m already gonna drown in the guilt of almost killing you. Imagine if you had actually—”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony’s mouth slams shut. “No, no. No. You can’t be sorry. You, of all people, are not allowed to be sorry.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t say it.” 

Peter bites down on the inside of his cheek and nods. His body feels as though it has become one with the couch cushions. “Sorry.”

Tony sighs. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both watching each other as if the other is about to speak, yet no one does. Peter wants nothing more than to sleep for a hundred years.

“I forgive you,” he eventually says.

Tony furrows his brows. “What?”

“I forgive you,” Peter repeats. His fingers trace the bandage covering his torso. “For shooting me.”

“Okay, I didn’t intentionally—”

“We’re gonna laugh about it one day,” he tells his mentor with a limp shrug. “Probably. But I forgive you. You wouldn’t wanna hurt me—you care about me. Same as I care about you.”

Tony nods, and a smile slowly grows on his features. “Yeah. You’re a punk, but I care about you.”

Silence settles again, and the soft sounds of cars and birds outside are drowned out by an overwhelming sense of calm. It could be the medication or it could be the company. But despite the injury that will fade in a matter of hours, Peter feels okay. He feels safe. 

“Wanna help me write that WikiHow article?” he asks. “I’ll cite you.”

“Yeah, no,” says Tony. “If you tell anyone that I almost fried a fifteen-year-old, I’ll kill you.”

“Is that a threat or a bet?”

“You’re so fired.” 


End file.
